Battles
by AlreadyPerfectPotts
Summary: FrUK fic set in 1802. The Treaty of Amiens creates a temporary peace between Great Britain and France, but Francis and Arthur still have hostile feelings towards each other. Rated M for hate-sex and language.


There were few things Francis considered more deliciously satisfying than having Arthur Kirkland at his mercy. He very much enjoyed the desperate moans and whines he elicited from the Brit, the look of yearning in those green eyes, the feeling of having teased and seduced Great Britain into submission. It was a struggle, though. One he didn't always win.

Oh, well. He was confident he would win this time. Arthur got a little careless when he's really pissed off, and by the look on his face during the meeting, he was beyond pissed. These thoughts passed through Francis' mind as he made his way to Arthur's room, where the Englishman was no doubt throwing a fit. Francis chuckled to himself at that mental image and continued walking.

Arthur expected that Francis would show up here. It wasn't like him to pass up an opportunity to gloat when it came to England's failures and misfortunes. Right now he was in his hotel room, pacing through broken glass that was the result of his resentment toward the Treaty of Amiens. Arthur didn't want a peace between them. He didn't want his country to recognize the French Republic. He wanted to destroy France and put him back in his place.

As soon as he heard the knock on the door, he wrenched it open. Sure enough, Francis was standing there at the threshold, looking right at him with that complacent expression which Arthur was all too familiar with. "Bonjour, Angleterre."

Arthur glared at him. "What do you want, Bonnefoy?" he demanded.

Francis just shrugged and strode in, bumping his shoulder against Arthur's as he did so. "Why so hostile? Do you have something against me visiting you?"

"Most of the time, yes. Believe it or not, I don't actually enjoy your company."

"Just most of the time, hmm? I'm flattered."

"Don't be," Arthur deadpanned.

"Well, what about right now?" Not that Francis cared what the answer was. Arthur couldn't tell him what to do.

"That depends."

"Oh? On what?"

"On why you're here."

Francis made a small uninterested noise and looked around the room. He caught sight of the shattered glass on the floor. "What happened here?" He looked over his shoulder at Arthur and smirked. "Upset about the treaty? Or is it your failure in the war in general that's making you so irate?"

Arthur's eyes narrowed into a glower, which only caused Francis's grin to widen.

"I'm in no mood to deal with your ridicule right now, frog. Leave," Arthur snapped.

Francis nonchalantly picked at a cuticle. "There is no need to be so rude."

Arthur scoffed and rolled his eyes.

Francis continued meandering around the room, clicking his tongue. "You should really keep that temper of yours in check. It helps to remain calm and collected when fighting a war, you know. Maybe then you'd have a better chance at defeating me."

Arthur closed his eyes and took a slow, deep breath through his nose. "Don't you dare act like you know war better than I. You and I both know I've defeated you plenty of times in the past." He huffed when Francis didn't respond. "Like I said, if all you're here to do is boast about your success against the Coalition thus far, then get out." He extended an arm to point his finger at the still-open door.

Francis laughed and turned to face him fully. "You know what I'm really here for."

With that, Arthur strode toward him, grabbed him by the front of his shirt, and kissed him so roughly Francis was sure his lips were already bruising. Francis kissed him back just as hard as he blindly pushed the door closed.

"You _bastard_ ," Arthur snarled before taking that pouty bottom lip between his teeth and biting down. Francis inhaled sharply, tasting blood. "Don't think for a second I don't see right through you." Another heated kiss, their hands gripping and clawing at each other. "You're going to try to build an empire with that Napoleon Bonaparte. You're planning to destroy Europe." He moved his mouth to the Frenchman's slender neck. "Well I'll have you know, I _won't_ let you win."

"Destroy? I think you mean _improve_ ," Francis said with a short, hollow laugh as Arthur nipped along his jawline. "And don't pretend like you're completely innocent in all this. Who the hell looks at a country that's being devastated by a revolution and decides to start a fucking war with it? You're the reason Napoleon rose through the ranks in the first place, you stupid f-!" Francis's stream of insults was cut off by Arthur's lips on his again. Arthur shoved his tongue into Francis's mouth, which Francis sucked on fervidly as they started ripping each other's clothes off.

The Englishman backed them up to the bed once they were both naked. He shoved Francis down onto it before climbing on top of him and straddling him, both of them sitting up and both starting to breathe heavily. Arthur grabbed a fistful of the Frenchman's golden locks and tugged at it vigorously, causing Francis's head to fall back and a sound that was like a growl mixed with a moan to escape his throat.

Arthur smirked at the sound. "You like that, don't you?" He pulled Francis's hair again, and the noise the Frenchman made was like sweet music to his ears. Arthur then attacked the now-exposed neck with searing kisses and bites. Francis couldn't help but react with both gasps of pain and moans of pleasure, digging his fingernails into Arthur's shoulders.

Then Arthur slowed down a little. He pressed his lips to the faded scar on the base of Francis's neck and then traced his fingertips over it. It was barely noticeable anymore, but he could still make out the marking where the merciless guillotine had taken the Francis's life almost a decade ago. Usually their kind would have fully healed from something like that by now, but the Frenchman still had not completely recovered due to all the years of war and turmoil that devastated his country. That thought made Arthur kind of smug.

Francis's whole body tensed as his enemy's calloused fingers glided across his skin with a touch that was abnormally soft, almost as if he was caressing him. Francis smacked Arthur's hand away angrily. "Don't mock me, Angleterre," he seethed.

A crooked smile of amusement played at the corners of Arthur's mouth. "I'm sorry, does this bother you?" He returned his hand to Francis's scars, this time the ones on his abdomen. "And where did these come from?" Arthur looked up at Francis with an impish glint in his eye. "Did someone get injured in battle?"

Once again, Francis swatted at him. "I said stop."

"Don't tell me what to do," Arthur retorted sharply. The gentle fingers on Francis's skin suddenly became claws that raked down his chest and stomach. Francis gasped and let out a little cry, and Arthur gave a pleased grin at the sight of blood surfacing from the new scratches in that irritatingly perfect skin. He then stooped down and pressed his tongue against Francis's torso, slowly licking up his body where the blood had trickled down. Francis shuddered and bit his lip, internally cursing himself for letting it show that he was actually enjoying what Arthur was doing to him. Well, he supposed the both of them already knew that the other enjoyed this. That's why they kept ending up here.

Once Arthur's mouth left Francis's abdomen, Francis pulled him to his lips and started making out with him passionately. He rolled his hips to rub their erections together and proceeded to touch Arthur's body in ways Francis knew he liked. Press a thumb behind his knee, suck on that spot on the crook of his neck, lick along his chest, massage his upper inner thigh, kiss just below his ear… It wasn't hard to figure out, for the Country of Love. He was an expert at playing his partners like a harp, and he prided himself on that.

Arthur started to become putty in his enemy's capable hands. Francis inwardly smiled in triumph, now lying on top of the Brit. He kissed up his neck slowly. "You _like_ when I win don't you?" Francis murmured against Arthur's jaw before nipping at it. "You _crave_ my touch. You actually _want_ to be dominated by me, whether you'll admit it or not. Because deep down you know that's the way things are meant to be. You belong beneath me." He moved his lips to Arthur's ear and whispered, "You have always been beneath me."

Arthur physically felt the rage course throughout his entire being, taking him out of his haze of pleasure. He lifted a hand to slap Francis, which the Frenchman swiftly caught in his own before it could make contact with his cheek. Arthur became even more infuriated as he noticed the egotistical look on Francis's face that clearly meant he was enjoying toying with him like this.

"You're wrong," Arthur snarled as he ripped his wrist out of Francis's grasp.

"Am I, now?" Francis breathed as he grinded his hips down against Arthur's once more.

Arthur let out an involuntary moan, and then he shoved Francis off of him forcefully and stood up. "Goddamn pompous, sadistic frog," he spat out indignantly.

Francis chuckled. "What, the _mighty and powerful_ Great Britain can't take a bit of teasing?" He gave a fake pout in mockery of Arthur. "How pathetic."

Arthur whipped around to face him again. "I ought to strangle you," he threatened, his eyes still alight with anger.

Francis wasn't fazed. "But you won't. It's more fun to fuck me and you know it."

Suddenly Arthur grabbed Francis by the shoulders, pulled him off the bed, and slammed him against the wall. He pinned his wrists above his head before the Frenchman could even comprehend what was happening. Francis hissed as he hit the wall, slightly dazed from banging his head so hard. He struggled to free his hands, but Arthur only held them tighter and pressed his body against him to trap him there.

Francis opened his mouth to say something, but all that came out was a mix between a yelp and a moan as Arthur abruptly turned him around and shoved his cock inside him. Francis barely had time to throw his hands out in front of him to stop himself from completely smashing into the wall. "Ohhh, _Dieu!_ "

"Shut up," Arthur growled through gritted teeth. His hands gripped Francis's waist firmly as he pounded into him hard and fast.

Francis squeezed his eyes shut, breathing through the pain. He didn't really mind it; this was England, after all. It was to be expected, wanted even. And Arthur knew this.

"I'm going to end you, Francis Bonnefoy," he sneered. "I'm going to crush every single person in your army. And then – _ahhh_ – I'm going to burn your cities to the ground." He thrust even faster, pulling Francis's hips with him to go deeper. Francis groaned loudly. His lungs started to burn from panting so hard. Arthur leaned forward to press his chest against Francis's back and continued speaking between grunts and moans. "I'm going to take everything you love from you. And then, I'm coming for you personally."

Francis tried to keep up the biting tone in his voice despite the moaning and rapid breathing. "Your empty threats mean nothing. I'll have you and the rest of Europe at my feet, and you – _ohh_ _shit_ – can't stop me, no matter how hard you try."

"You're just saying that to sound tough. I know deep down you're merely a coward." Arthur sank his teeth into his enemy's broad shoulder, causing Francis to gasp and squirm.

" _Aaaarthur_."

"Don't call me by my human name," the Brit snapped, giving Francis's ass a hard slap.

Francis pressed his lips together to keep from crying out. "Why not?" he responded breathlessly. "You used mine."

"I believe I'm the one in charge here."

An intense pleasure suddenly shot through Francis as Arthur hit his prostate. His eyes flew open wide and a desperate moan ripped out of his throat, his body writhing and breaking into a sweat.

Arthur smirked and stopped moving, absolutely reveling in the whimpers and whines that Francis just couldn't stifle. He licked the shell of his ear. "Who's beneath whom now, France?" he crooned.

Just as quickly as he'd stopped, Arthur started moving again relentlessly, aiming right for that sweet spot with every thrust. The talking ceased, save for the string of curses from Francis as the pleasure kept building on itself. Arthur buried his face in that silky blond hair. God, Francis was a beautiful specimen – yet another reason to resent him. He let his hands explore his muscular body. One ended up on his chest, the other slid down to grip his cock. Francis arched his back and moaned even louder as Arthur pinched his nipple and started jerking him off at the same time.

It didn't take long for either of them to reach their climaxes. Soon Francis was trembling and practically yelling in ecstasy (as he was always one to be quite vocal in the bedroom), and Arthur was groaning louder and louder until he was pushed over the edge. Francis came right after him, every muscle tensing up and his vision flashing white for a moment.

Arthur pulled out and Francis slumped against the wall, dripping with sweat and cum. Both of them plopped to the floor to catch their breath. Francis leaned his head against Arthur's shoulder, and Arthur let him. They lay there in silence for a while until their heartbeats slowed down to a more normal rate.

After a moment Arthur turned his head and latched onto Francis's neck, leaving a large hickey there. Francis sucked in a breath.

"What was that for?"

"I'm marking you, obviously," Arthur stated as he examined his work. "I want everyone to know you're mine."

Francis snickered. "How romantic." He dodged a smack from Arthur.

"Mine to dominate." Arthur rolled onto his side and trailed his fingers up Francis's side. "Mine to fuck, mine to kill… all of this is mine."

"I think you're forgetting about all the times _I've_ been the one to fuck and to kill _you_ ," Francis pointed out.

"Ah, but you didn't this time, did you?" Arthur took hold of Francis's chin and turned his head to make him look at him. A taunting, dangerous mischievousness danced in his eyes. "Better luck next time, frog."


End file.
